Teen She-Wolf
by Ricky Pine
Summary: A new Alpha comes to town and turns Allison. Scott and Stiles help her track down the one who bit her, it becomes clear that this Alpha is just one of many new threats to Beacon Hills. Including one for which Derek will need to do something he would have previously considered unthinkable - team up with a vampire to defeat it. (AU, post-Season 2. Ships: Scallison, DannyxOC.)
1. Prologue

**Extended Summary:**

 _Allison's mother couldn't let herself become a werewolf. Then again, Mrs. Argent didn't have as many people to support her._

 _When a new Alpha comes to town and turns Allison, she wants to kill him and return herself to normal as soon as humanly possible. But as Scott and Stiles help her track down the one who bit her, it becomes clear that this Alpha is just one of many new threats to the once-sleepy little town of Beacon Hills. And among those threats may be one for which Derek will need to do something he would have previously considered unthinkable - team up with a vampire to defeat it._

 _(Part 1 of the Summer Vacation Trilogy. This is an alternate universe fic. It is set after Season 2, and takes the first two seasons as canon, but Season 3 and onwards will not occur after the events of this trilogy. Any and all OC's are owned by me. Teen Wolf is owned by MTV, MGM, and that Grand Pabbie of Rock Troll Writers himself, Jeff Davis.)_

 _ **PROLOGUE: NOTHING GETS PAST THOSE KEEN WEREWOLF SENSES**_

There had been many times when Scott had been perched outside Allison's bedroom window at night. Maybe he didn't even know she was aware of his presence, but she was. She was just smart enough to be a little paranoid about having a supernatural creature exhibiting such behavior towards her. And she was just in love with him enough that she found it another one of his many endearing attributes.

Tonight, though, the tables had turned. Tonight, Allison was perched outside Scott's bedroom window. If one had asked her just yesterday if she could have managed the climb, she would have said "No." Not "Never in a million years," but a simple, flat, honest "No."

But that would have been yesterday. And tonight, everything had changed.

As Allison knocked on the glass with her forehead, she reminded herself irresistibly of the night she and Scott first met. Not the day she'd set foot in Beacon Hills High for the first time, but the night she'd hit a dog with her car and brought her to the vet's office. Allison had panicked so much that night, but Scott had been there to fix the dog up just fine, and he'd even lent her his spare shirt because hers was wet from having been rained on.

Meanwhile in the real world, Scott heard Allison's knock and bolted out of bed, getting ready to fight whatever intruder was trying to get into his room - until he saw her. She saw him breathe a sigh of relief, then he grabbed a shirt off the floor (as if she hadn't seen him without one many times before) and put it on before opening the window.

"Hey," he said, leaning out to kiss her forehead. "What's up?" Before Allison could answer his question, however, Scott stiffened, sniffing the air. Even if he were still an ordinary human, he probably would have had no trouble picking up on the metallic tang of blood.

Allison's blood.

"Holy…" Scott couldn't even finish whatever curse he had in mind. "What happened? What bit you?"

Allison's hand flew to the wound in her arm. "It was a werewolf."

"What? A werewolf? Are you sure?"

"I saw its eyes. They were red."

Allison looked into Scott's own eyes. Her Aunt Kate, as disturbed and psychotic and skeevy as she was, had been more than right about one thing - Scott really did have the most adorable big brown eyes. Not for long, though. She could clearly see the gold flash in there now.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then he climbed out the window. "I'll take you to Deaton's office," he said. "Get you patched up."

"Um...how is that gonna help me?" Allison asked. "Did you miss the part where I said I was bitten by an Alpha?"

"Of course not," Scott said. "But you need something to keep that covered, unless you wanna get infected. Live today, fight tomorrow, you get it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I get it, but-"

"And don't worry," Scott said, holding Allison's free hand. "Your dad isn't gonna find out about this."

He made to jump off the roof, but Allison held him back. "Aren't you gonna want to put on some pants first?"

Scott looked down and realized that he still had only boxers on below the waist. "Crap, you're right," he groaned. "And I don't even have my keys either. What the hell was I thinking, huh?" He laughed weakly, but Allison didn't join in. After getting his pants and keys, Scott rejoined Allison on the roof, helping her climb back down to the ground. "Don't worry," he said, stroking her hair for a moment before they set off for Deaton's office. "Everything's gonna be all right."


	2. Can't Tell The False From The Real

_**CHAPTER 1: CAN'T TELL THE FALSE FROM THE REAL**_

 *****STILES*****

When I wake up, I hear birds twittering outside my window. I never hear birds twittering outside my window. That's probably because Beacon Hills, despite all outward appearances, is far from your ordinary, garden-variety sleepy small town. I should know. I've spent the better part of the last year or so discovering just how supernaturally screwed-up this place is. Not to a _Twin Peaks_ level or anything, but then Beacon Hills doesn't pretend to be as charming and sickeningly-fifties-sweet as Twin Peaks ever did.

I've always thought that usually, there's no birds because some werewolf or other, more dangerous creature eats them all. I don't think it would be Scott - he doesn't have that serial-killer animal-killer thing going on. Derek probably does, but I can't imagine him maintaining his ripped bod on a diet of however many mourning doves and robins every night. He's much more of a red-meat kind of guy.

I pull the covers off. Because of the high altitude here, nights tend to get really cold, even in summer. Like, here it is, June 3rd, and according to the thermometer on my alarm clock, it's only 58 degrees in my room. Which probably translates to low 40s outside. Definitely cold enough for my breath to show.

So far, this first weekend of summer vacation hasn't been very eventful at all. In fact, Scott suggested we go see _Age of Ultron_ today. Just him and me. It's what he needs, after he broke up with Allison. I feel so bad for them both. What they had together was special, something I honestly don't think I would ever experience. Especially if I keep foolishly holding out for Lydia. I know she and I don't click that way, but you can't fault me for continuing to carry that spark of hope in my heart, can you?

I didn't think so.

I change out of my usual sleepwear and put on my usual street-wear. In this case, blue jeans and a Captain America T-shirt. Yeah, I'm going to be that guy, wearing a shirt advertising the movie I'm going to see. And why not? It's perfect for the occasion.

Then my phone rings. My ringtone, "Gold" by Imagine Dragons, fills the room with its indescribably awesome sound. But seeing Scott's name on the screen, I don't feel quite so awesome. Scott almost never actually calls me. If he wants to talk to me, he either texts, video-chats, or actually talks to me in person. That last one's kind of a lost art, even more so than making phone calls. Even my dad's office has started using one of those automated monstrosities that puts you on hold when you try and call to report a mugging, or a drunk-and-disorderly, or a brutal Kanima attack on your friendly local gay club.

"Hey, what's up?" I say, trying to fight down the slowly rising paranoia I'm feeling somewhere in my throat.

" _Stiles, you gotta come down to Deaton's office,_ " Scott says, his tone of voice urgent. " _It's Allison. She's been bitten._ "

"Bitten?" I repeat. I'm about to add "By what?" - but that would be a stupid question. Unless there's some other kind of creature in this town that spreads its supernatural ability through biting - and as far as I'm aware, right now there aren't any - the answer to that stupid question would be "a werewolf."

" _Yeah, so, uh, you need to come down here,_ " Scott says. " _It's too bad we probably won't get to see that movie, huh?_ "

"Yeah, too bad," I say, letting the words drag out a bit. "But, to be honest, I had a premonition our little hangout time wouldn't get to happen anyway, so…"

I think I hear Scott trying not to laugh. At least that means he's not too emotional over what's just happened to be even the tiniest bit cheered up.

"I'll be there in five minutes," I say.

" _Okay. See you later._ " Scott hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts for a moment. I look down at my Captain America shirt - now I don't want to wear it, because I don't want to keep reminding Scott (and myself) of the cinematic awesomeness we won't get to see today. So I change into a plain white ringer tee, adding one of my many plaid button-downs on top of that. Before I put the Captain America shirt away, though, I wrap it around my head so I can let out a string of angry swear words while not waking up the neighbors. Real swear words, not that sort of "daggummit" crap that comes from the mouth of the dad on _A Christmas Story._

I swear to God, one of these days, I'll have to help Scott find out what the hell it is that attracts all the werewolves to this town, then kill it with fire or wolfsbane or silver bullets or whatever it's most vulnerable to. Don't get me wrong, at least it gives me something to do, fighting the inhuman threats that come to Beacon Hills on a way-too-regular basis. But like lacrosse, it's not something I can see myself doing for my entire life. Mostly because I think one of these days, it just might kill me first.

I grab my wallet before heading out the door. I haven't even had any kind of breakfast - no bowl of cereal, no toaster waffles, not even a single cup of coffee. I want to stop at the nearest coffee shop and get an espresso, at least. But waiting for that might take me at least ten minutes, and I promised Scott I'd be there in five.

So I fold my wallet closed, blocking my driver's license from view. I've gotten so used to being called "Stiles," even by my own dad, that I don't think I've ever answered to my real first name. Sometimes, I even make the mistake of signing my name as "Stiles Stilinski." In fact, when I first applied for my license, Dad made sure I got about five different copies of the form. I needed all of those, because I wasted the first four before finally entering and signing my actual name: "Casimir Stilinski." But as soon as I'm old enough, I'm planning to legally change my first name to "Stiles." And if anyone asks me after that why I'm not a certain British boy-band member, I'll just say I had the name first, and it was stolen and altered for the other guy's purposes.

Sometimes, the trains of thought I find myself boarding just astound me. None of them ever follow a straight path, but instead wind around and around in spirals and pyramids and other shapes best left in sci-fi books. It's a wonder the paths I follow in the physical world take me where I'm supposed to be going. Like right now - after all this random crap about my name going through my head, here I am in the parking lot of Deaton's office. Right on time, too. Imagine that.

As I get out of my Jeep, I see a girl walking up the street. She's really tall for a girl - I mean, Allison's also tall for a girl, but this one looks even more so. She's got a hoodie on, her head bent down. But then she looks up, and I catch her eye. "Excuse me?" she calls out in a strange accent. British, I think. Or maybe Australian. "Could you, er, tell me where to find this address?"

She holds out a slip of paper in a pale brown hand with slim fingers. I take a look at the paper and recognize the address right away. "Um, sure. Yeah, I know where it is. But what are you goin' there for? There's nothing there but a wreck of an old house."

"That's exactly what I'm looking for," the girl says. "So which way do I go?"

I consider it for a moment. If this girl really has business with Derek, I should send her up to his new place - he's now living in a loft in an old warehouse on the edge of town. But what if she's a bad guy? What if she's been sent to kill him or something? Derek's been really cagey lately - even more so than usual. Scott and I both think he's trying to hide something. Like, does he know when the next new threat is coming? Or who they might be?

Of course, if this girl really is meant to attack, hurt, and/or kill Derek, she'll have a tough time of it. She's tall, but very thin. He's got her by a good four inches and at least seventy-five pounds. There's no way she could beat Derek in a fight, if it came down to that. Whoever would have sent her to fight him would have to be a complete and utter moron. So, I'm gonna guess that she's here for a much less violent purpose.

I direct her to Derek's loft, then go into Deaton's office after she heads off in that direction.

Allison's lying on the metal table where Deaton usually examines his animal patients. A table where Derek, for one, has been a patient himself on a few occasions. Like the time when Kate Argent shot him with a wolfsbane-tipped bullet.

Allison normally has this aura about her...I wouldn't call it "happy," but "positive." Even when she's not in the best of moods (which is, admittedly, pretty rare), her presence is usually enough to make people feel better. Again, I find myself wishing she and Scott were still together. Looking at them right now, the way Scott is standing and watching over her, it's easy to forget they ever broke up - but for all the wrong reasons.

Allison's not looking so positive right now. She's gone pale, and she's clutching her arm. There's a bandage there, with a roughly circle-shaped ring of blood soaking through the gauze. I bet the actual bite's healed by now, depending on how long it's been since she was bitten.

Sure enough, when Scott unwraps the bandage, there's no sign of any bite on Allison's skin. That's a good sign because it means the bite didn't kill her. But it's also a bad sign because it means she's not immune like Lydia was. She's turned. Or she will turn. Either way, she's no longer 100% human.

"So, now what?" I ask. "We gotta start lookin' for the one that bit her, right? Was it Derek? Or one of his pack? I knew we couldn't trust those-"

Allison sits up and shakes her head. "No, it wasn't anyone we know. I didn't recognize this one. But I knew he was an Alpha - he had red eyes."

Scott nods. "She already told me all that, Stiles."

"You said you didn't recognize him?" I ask. "But that means you saw his...oh wait, he would've been shifted. Yeah, I don't think gettin' a sketch artist is gonna do us much good."

"You're probably right." Scott sighs through his nose.

"Wherever he is, though, he can't be that far," I say. "I mean, if he's an Alpha, maybe he's got a pack with him too. And maybe he's tryin' to muscle in on Derek's territory."

Allison lets out a bark of laughter. (I'm not kidding - it really is a bark.) "Muscle in on his territory? I'd like to see him try."

"Well, Derek's not been an Alpha for very long," Scott points out. "You think he's ready for a challenge like this? And his pack is a little bit on the dysfunctional side and all…" He's interrupted by his phone ringing. I think he's changed his ringtone recently - I don't remember it being "Oh Love" before. "Dammit," he groans before answering. "Hey, Jackson," he says. I know right away what they're going to be talking about - ever since Jackson was turned from a Kanima to a plain old werewolf, he and the other young wolves in Derek's pack, plus Scott, have all been doing this daily werewolf-practice sort of thing in the woods near the Hale house. "I'm sorry, but the whole workout thing's gonna have to wait. Allison's been bitten, and-"

"What?" Jackson's voice comes through the phone so loudly that Scott is forced to hold it away from his ear. Allison and I both cover our ears at the same time. I bet it's worse for her, though, since her hearing's now werewolf-enhanced.

" _Did one of you guys do it?_ " Jackson yells. I guess he's talking to the rest of Derek's pack, because next, I hear someone mumbling something - Isaac, I think - followed by Jackson growling, " _Don't lie! Did you attack Allison last night?_ "

He must be totally wolfed out right now. I exchange glances with Scott, who shakes his head as if to say, " _The Lord is testing me._ " Jackson needs the training more than any of the others, because he's not been a werewolf for very long, and he used to be something much worse. He's still having trouble keeping a handle on his inner beast sometimes. And who knew he could still get super-defensive over Allison? I remember he and Scott were sort-of rivals for winning her heart before the whole Kanima thing, but I thought he was all into Lydia now. If I weren't such a nice guy (or such a skinny, defenseless one), I'd have done what Scott once did, and really taught him a lesson.

"Jackson, it's not one of ours," Allison says, sliding off the table. Scott holds the phone out and presses the speaker button, so now we can all hear Jackson loud and clear, myself included.

" _What?_ " A bit of noise comes out of the speaker - I guess Jackson dropped the phone when he went after Isaac. That part's confirmed when I hear him distinctly muttering " _Jesus Christ_ " somewhere in the background.

" _Are you sure?_ " Jackson asks as soon as he's got the phone in hand again.

"Positive," Allison says.

Jackson sighs, the sound scratchy and harsh over the speakers of Scott's phone. " _We're gonna start lookin' around. Where did it happen?_ "

Allison's about to answer when the phone beeps a couple of times. "Shit, I'm gettin' another call," Scott says, checking the screen. "Jackson, could you hold on a couple of minutes? Allison and I will meet you guys in the woods."

He and Allison, huh? What am I, chopped liver? I give Scott a pained look while he thumbs the screen to take the other call. In my head, I'm butchering a Christmas song: _All of the other werewolves used to laugh and call him names. They never let poor Stiles join in any werewolf games…_

Scott takes a split second to check the name on his phone's screen before talking to our new caller. "What's up, Derek?" he asks.

Derek doesn't answer right away. Instead, he lets out a huge, almost melodramatic sigh. I guess he's pissed, and my guess turns out to be correct. " _Pardon me for soundin' like your lunatic lacrosse coach, but which one of you teenage morons led a goddamn vampire to my door?_ "

Scott and Allison look at me suspiciously. Do they have some kind of lovers' telepathy that lets their minds tune in with each other?

"Why're you lookin' at me?" I ask. "Do you really think…" I stop when I see their eyes flash gold. Allison's, too. The sight is enough to disturb me like I've never been disturbed before. "Okay, I did it. But I didn't know that girl was a vampire, I swear! Is it really as bad as you're makin' it sound, or…" I can almost feel Derek looking down on me with disapproval through the phone, which is sitting there, eerily silent. "Okay, I'll shut up now."

"Derek, we can't deal with this right now," Allison says. "I got bitten by an alpha last night, so we're gonna go looking for it in the woods."

" _Not all of you,_ " Derek says. " _Send Stiles up to me with a couple of stakes. I know that druid vet keeps a few locked up somewhere in his office._ "

"Me? Really?" I ask, not sure if I should be the one sent to take care of a vampire.

" _Yes, you, Stiles,"_ Derek says. " _Bring two at least. One for me in case you miss._ "

If I'd been drinking something, I'd be spitting it all over the place right now. "We're not gonna kill her, are we?"

" _Only if we have to,_ " Derek says.

"Excuse me?" I hear the British-accented voice of that girl I saw on the street. Nothing about her appearance really screamed "vampire" to me...well, she did have her hood up and her head down. Maybe she was avoiding the sun that way?

" _Just sit tight,_ " Derek tells the vampire girl. To me, he adds, " _Oh, and Stiles? Make sure they're mountain ash._ " He hangs up, leaving me to stare at the phone.

Scott pulls a key from his pocket and crosses the room, opening a small, out-of-the-way metal box. Inside, I see a number of stakes of various types of wood. At least two are mountain ash - they're the same light color as the railing in Deaton's waiting room, which is made of the same wood to deter unwanted supernatural callers. Because Scott can't pick up the stakes himself, I have to take them before he locks up the box again.

"You guys need a ride?" I ask Scott and Allison, tucking the stakes into the waistband of my jeans like they're guns.

Allison shakes her head. "No thanks. I could do with the exercise."

"And besides," Scott says, "you need breakfast, dude. Or at least a cup of coffee. You're a sugar crash waitin' to happen."

"You can smell that, huh?" I ask, cocking my head. "Next thing you know, you'll be my cancer-sniffing service werewolf."

Scott and Allison literally laugh me out the door. "No, but your hands are hella shaky," Scott points out. "Seriously, get something to eat. I dunno much about vampires, but I bet they'd be tricky enough to take on even on a full stomach."

"It's daytime, though," I point out. "All we'll need to do is cook her in the sun for a bit."

Allison's lips curl. No doubt she's seen worse, especially with her family being a bunch of hunters. But she must have a renewed appreciation for supernatural creatures, knowing that there's some exceptions to the rule of them always wanting to hunt humans down. Like Scott, for instance. I bet she's a lot less "shoot first, ask questions later" nowadays. Which is good for her, I guess.

Scott and Allison wave goodbye to me as I get into the Jeep. Before turning on the engine, though, I'm forced to take the stakes out of my pants. What the hell was I thinking, sticking them back there? Whichever action-movie hero was the first to put weapons that close to their valuables ought to be shot with their own gun. I mean, seriously.

I stop to get myself a cappuccino on the way to Derek's loft. My only hope is that when I leave the stakes on the passenger seat, nobody from the Sheriff's Department (least of all my dad) stops to look in my Jeep for any reason.


	3. I Gotta Tell You, You Had It Coming

_**CHAPTER 2: I GOTTA TELL YOU, YOU HAD IT COMING**_

 *****DEREK*****

There's a few things people think are true about vampires. Most of them are myths, of course, like vampires themselves are supposed to be. Yeah, I know I'm saying that as an equally (supposedly) mythological werewolf, but that's beside the point.

One of the things that is true about them is the fact that they're not able to enter buildings uninvited. Which means I can have the door to my building wide open, with a vampire girl standing just a few inches shy of the threshold, and not run the risk of being attacked. Even as the morning sun pours onto her from behind, which can't be doing her any good. Even that black hoodie she's wearing won't be enough to filter out all the UV rays, and vampires have very, very light-sensitive skin. It's a shame to ruin it - this vampire is actually very pretty.

Except when she's glaring at me, her lips curled in a half-disgusted, half-angry grimace. "I really do need to talk to you, you know," she says in her British accent. "We know about the Alpha Pack, Derek Hale. And we know you're not any more keen to have them around than we are."

"I dunno what you're talkin' about," I say with a casual shrug. Inside, though, my pulse is starting to accelerate. Why would a vampire coven know about an Alpha Pack coming to Beacon Hills? Vampires normally avoid California anyway. Even Northern California is too sunny for them. They prefer clouds and rain, which is why there's a lot of them up in the Northwest. And also why I've never actually gone to the Northwest - because why get into an unnecessary fight?

"You know, vampires can smell lies too," she says, crossing her arms and continuing to sneer at me. "You're not gonna bullshit me here."

"No, but I'm also not gonna tell you what you seem to wanna hear," I say, matching her sneer as best I can. "Since when have we gotten along, anyway?"

"That's a presumptuous thing to say," the vampire girl says. "We've never gotten along, 'cause we've never met before."

"But you know my name anyway. Am I really that famous?"

"Hah! Try 'infamous.' That'll be closer to the mark in describing you Hales."

I look over the vampire girl's shoulder as I see Stiles' familiar borderline-rust-bucket of a Jeep pulling into the entrance to the warehouse. Why the vampire girl was able to cross that door but not the one leading to the stairs (and, by extension, my loft), I'm not sure. But then, I have to admit that because I've never really dealt with one of her species before, I'm not so well-versed on their lore. Uncle Peter would be a better source of information, but I'd much rather not go to him if I can help it. I think he's still got some hard feelings after I had to kill him and take his Alpha power away.

"So you've heard of my family," I say. "Did you also hear about the fact that they all died in a fire six years ago?"

"Clearly not all," the vampire points out. "What about you? And your uncle, as disreputable as he is."

Stiles climbs out of his Jeep, armed with the pair of stakes I'd asked him to pick up at Deaton's office. "Toss one to me," I say, holding up my left hand - which I've covered in a leather work glove to protect myself from the harmful effects of the mountain ash.

"Good morning to you too," Stiles says. Of course the kid has to give me lip. He hesitates before throwing the stake over the vampire girl's shoulder. I'm forced to lean a long way forward before I can catch it. Then I point the business end at the vampire girl.

"Really?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Stiles, get behind her," I say, ignoring her angry-duck noises of protest. Stiles follows my order and points the stake at her - blunt end first. He then looks down, sees his mistake, and corrects himself with a nervous laugh. I, meanwhile, sigh heavily at his flash of ineptitude.

"Now you can come in," I say to the vampire girl. "But no funny business, _¿comprende?_ "

" _Sí, comprendo,_ " she says, looking between me and Stiles with a distinct look of fear on her face.

I'm momentarily thrown by her response. But then, there's no reason why she shouldn't know Spanish just because she's a vampire. Sure, they wouldn't have a great presence in Spanish-speaking countries, because the climates tend to be too warm for them. But that's not to say the only foreign languages they get to learn are Romanian and/or Russian. (Unfortunately, I had to read _Vampire Academy_ in my high school days, because the vampires in that story were said to be the closest match to the real thing. Seeing this girl, I'm guessing she's of the type that inspired the Moroi in those books. Tall, lithe, graceful. Not alabaster-skinned, though.)

I back away and allow the vampire girl to come in. The whole time, I'm walking...well, not really backwards, but about halfway between that and a sideways Hammertime-walk. I have to keep my stake trained on her, but I also have to be able to see where I'm going. I've not been living here long enough to really be familiar with the layout of this warehouse.

"All right," I say as soon as we're all in the loft and I signal Stiles to lower his stake before he breaks something. I, however, keep mine aimed at the vampire girl. "First things first-"

" _'I'm the realest, realest,'_ " Stiles says in a really bad impression of a southern accent.

I turn away from the vampire girl long enough to glare at him. "Why did you have to quote...that?"

"Just tryin' to defuse the tension, my good man," Stiles says, grinning unabashedly.

"With Iggy Azalea? Seriously?" Even the vampire girl looks disgusted as she says this. Speaking of which, I still don't know her name. Since I don't want to keep calling her "the vampire girl" forever, I finally do the polite thing and ask her name. "Skylar Renard," she says. "Yeah, I'm aware my name is French for 'fox.' Don't use that as another excuse to hate me."

"So what brings you here, Skylar Renard?" I ask, flexing my fingers around the stake. It's actually pretty awkward to hold it in a gloved hand, but I've got no choice. It's the only way I can hold it without getting poisoned.

"You already know why I'm here," Skylar says, crossing her arms and glaring at me all over again. "Because of the-"

I hold up my hand until she shuts up. "Not in front of the kid, okay?" I say.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "Hey, I'm an equal member of this pack, you know."

"Not when you're a human, you're not," I point out. "Besides, this is something just for me and mine to deal with. Not you, Stiles. And certainly not for vampires."

"'You and yours?'" Skylar scoffs. "You have no children. And your species' misbegotten reproduction method doesn't count. Do you really care for your Betas as a true father cares for his sons and daughters?"

"We can reproduce like humans too," I hiss. "Don't get sanctimonious on me."

"Then let's discuss the problem we're all facing," Skylar says. "In a calm, non-lethal manner, if you please."

"Fine," I grumble. "Stiles, you can stay. You probably would've eavesdropped anyway and gone to Scott and Allison to let them know what's goin' on."

"Oh yeah, speaking of Allison, did you know she got bitten by an Alpha?" Stiles asks.

I almost drop the stake in my surprise. "What?" I ask. In my head, I'm thinking, _Oh shit. They're gettin' even more belligerent than I thought._

"Yeah, that's about how I reacted too," Stiles says. "Glad to see we're on the same page."

"Who's Allison?" Skylar asks.

"A friend of ours," Stiles says.

"The daughter of hunters," I say. "Don't worry - they tried to corrupt her, and failed. Of course, the fact that I bit her mom and indirectly drove the bitch to suicide doesn't exactly endear me to her and her family."

"And she was bitten by an Alpha?" Skylar asks. "One from that Alpha Pack, I'd assume?"

Stiles perks up upon hearing what I wanted to keep private. "Alpha Pack? Does that mean what I think it means? Shit, just when you think things aren't bad enough...we must really be bad-luck magnets around here, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Please don't talk out loud," I say.

"Yeah, you'll lower the IQ of the whole street," Skylar quips.

"But I'm right, aren't I?" Stiles asks. "This Alpha Pack's gotta be hella bad news, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, and if they're taking new victims, they must wanna really flex their muscles. Which would mean they'd wanna take me out, 'cause I'm the main obstacle to their dominance here-"

"And as much as we don't enjoy having werewolf packs running around," Skylar says pointedly, "having a pack of murderous Alphas would be even worse. Which is why I'm here - the leadership of my coven sent me to do recon, see if we need to intervene."

"'Intervene,' she says," I say with a loud snort of laughter. "You'd kill my pack as well if you weren't careful. And something tells me you wouldn't be careful."

"Ouch, that stings," Skylar says with an angry, sarcastic pout.

"So does your joke about 'running around,'" I say. "That's not what my pack and I do." My phone rings, and I stop to answer it - the call's coming from Scott. "What's up?" I ask, holding the phone up with my free (left) hand - which I'm not used to doing, actually, since I'm a righty. "You got anything from your little run through the woods?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see Skylar roll hers.

"We tracked down the Alpha," Scott says. "I think. He's holed up in your old place, and he's tagged the door with this weird triangle symbol. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, it does, but I can't explain right now," I say. "I'm busy tryin' to talk to a vampire."

"Talk to her, right? Not interrogate, or torture?"

"Yes, my wannabe-superhero friend. We're just talking." I glance over at Skylar for another moment and see her roll her eyes again. "If you can get me a picture of the Alpha, send it to me. We'll see if I can recognize him."

"Just a sec…" I hear the clicking sound of a smartphone camera going off.

"Wait, how far away from this Alpha are you?" I ask. "I hope they didn't just hear that."

"What the hell?" Scott whispers. "There's two of them?"

"Just send me the damn picture and get out of there already!" I yell.

On the other end of the line, I hear a faint growling. Whoops, my bad. I shouldn't have yelled like that. I think I just blew my pack's cover. I mentally curse myself. If my hands weren't full, I'd smack my forehead right now for good measure.

"Shit, they're onto us! Run!" Scott yells. The sound of teen wolves running scared, digitized by the cheap speakers on my phone, filters into my ears.

"Get to Deaton's office!" I bark into the phone. "You'll be safe there!" I give Scott just enough time to acknowledge my order before hanging up - just as the picture he sent me arrives. Unlike Scott, who has the latest trendy phone like all good little teenagers, I have a bare-bones dumb-phone, mostly because I have no real use for smartphones anyway. Therefore, his picture-text takes forever for my phone to process, and even longer to open.

But open it does, allowing me to get a look at the Alphas. At first, I think, Holy shit, am I seeing double? But then I realize the two muscle-bound, blandly-handsome guys in the picture are identical twins. One of them is turned a little away from the camera, but the other is facing it (possibly unintentionally), and so most of his face is obscured by the red lens flare of his werewolf eyes. But I can see enough of his face to confirm my suspicion about the identical-twin thing.

"So it's true that werewolves can't take a photo properly, innit?" Skylar asks. I jump, realizing she's managed to get behind me without me noticing. "Twins, are they? I bet they can meld their bodies together, too. I've heard of some case of twin wolves doin' that somewhere in...oh well, it's not important."

"Everyone, follow me," I say. "We're gonna go to Deaton's office and meet the others." I grab the keys to my car. "Stiles, can I trust you to drive this thing?"

"More than you can trust me to aim a stake at this one," he says, jerking his thumb at Skylar. "It's against my code to stick things in hot girls. Unless it's my-"

"We don't wanna hear it," I say, slamming the door open to further interrupt Stiles' increasingly inappropriate rambling. "After you, my dear," I say to Skylar with a flourish in the direction of the door.

"Ooh, such a gentleman," Skylar says mockingly. "Is this gonna be a routine with you? I should warn you, the last bloke who tried to be all chivalrous with me, I bit him and drained him of three pints."

"I dare you to try that on me," I snark back. "I'll heal too fast for you to kill me that way."

"Sure you will."

"You'd have to have Scott help you with that," Stiles says as I toss him the keys.

"But Scott's more about taking the pain, not healing," I say. When we get to my Chevy Tahoe, I open the door for Skylar once again. She flashes her fangs at me, but doesn't follow through on her biting threat. Instead, she sits in the second-row seat and buckles up while I come around to the other side and point the stake at her again.

Stiles has a bit of trouble driving my car, because it's so much bigger and more unwieldy than his Jeep. But, to my eternal surprise, he manages to get it to Deaton's parking lot in one piece.

It doesn't stay that way for long, though. Because we're soon met by the two Alpha twins, their eyes blazing red, wolf faces already coming out. This is exactly why I decided to meet at Deaton's - because I didn't want the pack to lead these bozos to my front door. I've had enough trouble dealing with one less-than-wanted guest today.

"Get inside!" I shout to Stiles and Skylar as the twins approach the back of my car. They then proceed to take off their shirts - show-offs - and then do something really disturbing. Their bodies join together. Clearly, I don't mean that in a "knowing thee Biblically" sense. They literally become one huge super-wolf. Holy shit, but Skylar was right. Although I don't think I understand how they're still wearing pants - and then, with a crash, the super-wolf punches through the back windshield, shattering it.

"Go!" I yell at the others, using my free hand to push Skylar out the door that much faster. Then I pull open the driver's door and drag Stiles out by his arm before moving him in front of me, putting myself between him and Skylar and the angry super-wolf.


End file.
